When Enjolras Met Éponine
by LemonStar
Summary: ..Enjolras/Éponine.. They first meet as freshmen in university and become fast friends, constant companions and close confidants. But as they grow older, everyone likes to remind them of the same thing. Guys and girls can never be just friends.
1. Chapter 1

..xx..

**Prologue.**

She officially hates Russian literature.

She wants to take her copy of _Crime and Punishment _and throw it across the room and she does just that, sitting up on her bed and aiming for the opposite wall, Cosette's side of the room, hitting it right next to the partially-open door just as there is a knock.

"Whoa."

She looks to see a head of blonde curly hair poke into the room.

"Was that meant for me?" Enjolras asked.

Éponine sighs and shakes her head. "I'm sorry. What's up?"

He pushes the door open wider and enters the room. She sees a few of his books and notebooks under one arm.

"Do you mind if I crash in here for a little bit and study?" He asks. "Marius has… company," the tips of his ears turn red.

"I knew she wasn't doing laundry," she murmurs more to herself.

"And I went to see if I could hang with Combeferre but Joly and him are studying for one of their exams and Joly is convinced he has every disease they're reading about," he explains and she feels her lips twitch in a smile. "And then I went to see Courfeyrac but Grantaire is already there and they've begun their celebration of the weekend."

"It's Wednesday," she smiles.

He just shrugs and she can tell that he's trying not to smile himself.

"So after bothering everyone else, you finally remembered me?" She teases him.

"Bossuet and Jean Prouvaire were actually next if you told me to leave you alone so you weren't actually my last option," he points out to her and for the first time that evening, she laughs and forgets all about her assigned reading due tomorrow for her morning class that she just can't seem to finish despite attempting to complete it for the past three hours.

She gestures for him to sit on Cosette's bed, which he does with his neck turning red. He picks up the book she has thrown and that has fallen onto the mattress from the wall.

"I believe this is yours," he extends it towards her.

She sighs and frowns, reluctantly taking it from him again. "I hate it," she collapses back onto her bed again with a huff.

"Really?" He raises his eyebrows. "It's one of my favorites."

She smiles. "Of course it is."

"What?" He asks, his forehead furrowed, not understanding and she can't help but laugh.

She turns the book over to read the description on the back cover. "Supreme masterpiece recounts in feverish, compelling tones the story of Raskolnikov, an impoverished student tormented by his own thoughts after he brutally murders an old woman. Overwhelmed afterwards by guilt and terror, Raskolnikov confesses and goes to prison. There he realizes that happiness and redemption can only be achieved through suffering." She finishes and looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" He asks again and she laughs, shaking her head.

"Take away the murdering of the old woman and you're basically Raskolnikov," she informs him.

"I'm actually a little insulted," Enjolras admits and that makes her sit up, looking at him. "Raskolnikov believes that people are divided into the ordinary and extraordinary and he feels that the ordinary are just the common rabble while the extraordinary must not follow moral codes that apply to ordinary people since they are meant to be great men."

"Wait!" She exclaims and dives for her notebook on her desk. "I have to write all of this down. This book has lost me more than once."

"Seriously," he keeps going. "You think I'm like Raskolnikov? Do you even listen to my speeches when I give them?"

"Honestly, not really," Éponine shakes her head and when she finishes writing what he has just said, she lifts her head to find him staring at her, his mouth parted open – shocked – and she realizes what she has just said. "I'm sorry. It's just… Sometimes, you tend to go right over my head," she then admits even though she feels embarrassed to.

She has never considered herself to be stupid but she can't help but feel that way whenever around Enjolras.

They had met one another six months earlier, during freshman orientation, in the book store when they had literally knocked into one another, both reaching for the same textbook on Altruism for their shared philosophy class. They wound up helping one another find all of their other books and walking out of the store, they found out they didn't just live in the same dormitory but on the same floor as well.

Enjolras is ridiculously smart and incredibly handsome but he is more than that. He was the first friend she had made at the university and she considers him to be one of her closest; one she doesn't want to lose because Enjolras always seems like he could care less about girls (or boys).

She has gotten quite good at hiding her crush on him.

Most days, it doesn't seem to exist at all and usually, that's just fine with her because she loves having him as a friend and she almost needs him as a friend.

"I just meant that you are very concerned with the plight of the poor," she tries to explain. "I can easily see you dropping everything in life and going out there to live like one of them to understand it all better."

He's quiet for a moment, seeming to think it over. He then nods. "I've thought about it. I can't very well preach about something if I don't practice it."

"What about school? Or your dad?" She asks him.

He shrugs. "I would figure it out."

"It's not easy being poor, Enjolras," she tells him what he should already know. "I would trade spots with any of you in a second."

She doesn't look at him when she says this and instead busies herself flipping through the book, most of it highlighted and underlined with passages she has deemed important.

She doesn't often talk about her upbringing. Of all of their friends, Enjolras is the only one to know. Her abusive and alcoholic parents, the fighting and frequent visits from the police and eventually, when they both went off – her father to prison and her mother abandoning her, she entered into the foster care system.

She is at the university on a scholarship she worked her ass off to earn and she works as many hours as she can at the Café Musain, a popular hangout for students, to earn her way.

"You would help me though, wouldn't you?" He asks after a moment of silence.

She lifts her head to look at him, to find that he is staring at her. Grantaire calls him the marble statue, their very own Apollo, and though most of the time, Grantaire is drunk and most of what he says seems to be nonsense, sometimes, he speaks the absolute truth.

"Even though I insult you by comparing you to Raskolnikov?" She smiles, teasing.

He smiles, too. "You'll have to make that one up to me," he says and she laughs and his smile grows a bit wider but then it fades as he looks at her. "I would help you, too. You know that, right?" He tells her this in a softer voice, staring intently at her.

She glances away and nods quickly, not saying anything.

"Éponine," he says in the same soft voice and his hand reaches out, hesitantly, slowly, resting lightly on her knee. "If you ever need-"

"I know, Enjolras," she cuts him off, not really liking this direction of conversation.

Helping him, helping anyone, is one thing but Éponine has never liked anyone doing that for her. She has learned at a very young age how to take care of herself and she is more than capable of doing just that. She doesn't need anyone.

She looks down at the book in her hands and then up at Enjolras sitting on the bed across from her. He has lowered his own eyes and is looking at his own textbooks in his lap.

"Enjolras?" She says his name and he instantly looks at her.

She smiles faintly at him and she's silently glad that Marius and Cosette seem to be addicted to spending time with one another without their clothes on. She wonders how next year will be because she knows that Enjolras and Combeferre have already made plans to get an apartment together and she's not sure what she'll do. It depends entirely on how much money she has. She doesn't like the idea at all of not seeing him as often.

"This book is really kicking my ass," she admits and he smiles a little and it's not what he meant – they both know that – but for now, this is the most help she will ask of him.

"What part are you on?" He asks and she flips open the book and hands it to him. He reads silently to himself for a moment and then shakes his head, looking at her, smirking. "I can't believe you compared me to Raskolnikov."

She laughs. "Both of you are students."

He raises an eyebrow. "That's it? That's your only comparison?"

She laughs again and shakes her head. "See? I need your help!"

"Obviously," he says and she picks up her pillow, whacking him with it, and they both laugh.

The door to the dorm opens wider and Cosette enters, looking a little flushed, but other than that, not a piece of clothing or a piece of hair on her head is out of place. She halts when she sees Enjolras sitting on her bed and he immediately stands up with her presence.

"Hi," she smiles at them both. "The laundry room is a madhouse right now."

Enjolras is too polite to say anything but Éponine rolls her eyes, almost laughing, but it fades as she looks back to Enjolras.

"Are you heading back to your room now?" She asks, trying to act like she could care less either way what he does.

"Oh, you can stay, Enj," Cosette says and it's the nickname everyone calls Enjolras and Éponine wonders if she's the only one who truly knows how much he despises it. "Marius and I are going to get something to eat. Do either of you want me to get you anything?"

"I'm okay," Éponine shakes her head.

"Me, too. Thank you, Cosette," Enjolras says and this time, when he sits down again, it's in the chair at Éponine's desk.

After a minute of gathering her things, Cosette smiles and waves and leaves the room again.

"Okay," Éponine sighs. She looks over her study guide. "Discuss the development of the poverty motif over the course of the novel."

Enjolras gets a spark in his eyes at that and she laughs.

"Oh, no. I should have asked Cosette to bring me some coffee. You're going to have me up with this all night."

He smiles. "If you don't want my help-"

"No, no, I didn't say that," she shakes her head. "Just… go easy on me."

..xx..

* * *

_A/N: I deleted my story "Lonely Souls" because I was a bit discouraged. I hope you read and if you like this one, I hope you comment. I'm feeling a little better about this one. _


	2. Chapter 2

..xx..

Four Years Later.

He could barely keep his eyes open and he needed a good night's rest. He couldn't actually remember the last time he had gone to bed before midnight.

Combeferre and Éponine were constantly nagging him about it and Joly always told him that the average hour recommended by medical professionals was eight and Grantaire and Courfeyrac always liked to point out that he was a much bigger dick than usual when he didn't get enough sleep.

He didn't really care though. They all knew and understood for the most part. As a first-year law school student, he couldn't afford time to sleep. There was too much to learn and study and prepare for.

In the silence of the library, his phone resting on the table vibrated, and fighting back a yawn, he reached for it. He normally would have ignored it. His friends knew better than to bother him when he was studying – though Grantaire pointed out to him that it was hard to find a time when he wasn't studying – but the name on the screen was Éponine and she was the only person he interrupted himself in the library for.

"Hey," he whispered, looking around to make sure he wasn't bothering anyone.

For a moment, he couldn't hear her – or anything for that matter.

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "Éponine?" He stood up from the table and began gathering his things, trying to move as quickly he could because he already knew. Without her saying a word, he knew.

"Can you come and get me?" She whispered and she was choking on sobs.

"Where are you?" He asked and he slung his bag onto his shoulder, rushing from the room.

"The ER," she answered though a part of him already knew that. "I can call Cosette-"

"I'll be right there," he told her, already breaking into a run.

The hospital was twelve blocks away and he ran as fast as he could, bursting into the ER panting and sweat on the back of his neck. It was after one o'clock in the morning and the waiting room was empty except a young college student holding a bloody tissue to a cut on his forehead and a older woman who couldn't seem to stop coughing.

His eyes scanned over them quickly, only caring about finding Éponine.

He hated that this wasn't the first time he had gotten her from here. Ever since she met and started dating that asshole, Montparnasse, Éponine seemed to become a regular in the ER. And every time, she would call him to come and get her. And of course he came. He always came as fast as he could, no matter what he was doing.

Éponine was his best friend. Ever since they met in the university bookstore before their freshmen classes began. Enjolras kept a distance between himself and others. He always had. His mother had always called him a cold child. He cared for people. He just didn't want to get close to them. Combeferre was someone he had grown up with and had been his closest friends for his entire life.

But the instant he met Éponine, he couldn't be sure what it was. He just clicked with her in a way that he had never experienced with anyone before. Sometimes, she seemed to be the only one to know him; to understand him. Even more than Combeferre. Their other friends would often call her if he was in a particularly sour mood and beg her to come over just so she could get him to crack some form of a smile and stop scaring them.

There wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him and he returned the favor as much as he could. And ever since Montparnasse entered their lives, Enjolras found himself often returning the favor much more often and doing anything for Éponine that she needed.

He couldn't help but be furious with her. He tried not to be. He tried to keep it from her. She didn't put up with anyone's shit. She could silence any of their friends with a glare.

But when it came to Montparnasse, an older guy who came into the Café Musain one day while she was working and who she had been dating for the past year, she allowed herself to be his own private punching bag.

Enjolras didn't understand and he didn't know if he ever would. Any time he tried to talk with her about it, she shut him down and shut herself up.

The door leading from the ER back to the hallway and exam rooms opened and Éponine stepped out, the doctor behind her. Her left eye was black and purple and nearly swollen shut and he only glanced at it. His stomach rolled.

"Hey," he hurried up to her and she looked at him with her one good eye. She pursed her lips together and without a word, she leaned into him. He put his arm around her shoulders. "Can you get out of here?" He asked her but looked at the doctor as he did.

The doctor nodded. "Plenty of ice," he said to Enjolras, who unfortunately already knew that. He then touched Éponine lightly on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Ms. Thénardier," he said and she nodded, not looking at him.

"Thank you," Enjolras politely tipped his head to him and then with his arm around her shoulders, he turned her and guided her towards the doors.

"Were you studying?" She asked softly.

He smirked a little. "What else would I be doing?" He asked.

"Can I sleep over tonight?" She whispered.

"You know you can and you're going to."

They walked down the silent street towards his apartment in their own silence. His arm was still around her and she was leaning into his side and there was so much he wanted to say to her but he didn't. He knew with Éponine, he would just be wasting his breath.

He lived on the second floor in the building, in an apartment he shared with Combeferre, and when he unlocked the door and flipped on the light, he knew that his roommate was home with the jacket tossed over the back of the couch and medical textbooks on the kitchen table. The door to his bedroom was closed and there was no light shining from within so it seemed as if Combeferre was already asleep.

Éponine often spent the night and moved around with familiarity and ease.

Enjolras locked the door again and put his shoes and jacket away in the front hall closet. Éponine first went to the kitchen for a glass of water and then went down the hallway. He turned off the light again and followed her, already finding her in his bedroom, going through his dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of his boxers and a tee-shirt.

She left the room to go to the bathroom and Enjolras took the time to drop his bag onto his desk and to change into a pair of sweatpants and an undershirt to sleep in. When she came into the bedroom again, wearing his clothes, he was turning down the sheets of the bed and he looked over to her, noticing that she had brushed her hair so that locks of it fell over and covered her eye.

He gave her a small smile and she returned it, moving to the other side of the bed.

She slept over so often, they had their own sides of the bed.

She slipped between the cool sheets first and she normally slept on her left side but couldn't tonight because of her eye so instead, she rolled onto her right side, facing him.

"I have to get up at six," he warned her as he set the alarm clock.

She nodded and said nothing and Enjolras flipped off the lights before crawling onto the bed, joining her. He usually was a back-sleeper but tonight, he turned onto his side to face her. Her good eye was already closed but he knew she wasn't trying to sleep yet. He saw the way her chin was trembling, even in the dark.

He clenched his jaw.

He didn't understand.

Why was she with him? Why did she do this? Why did he pick her up from the ER only to take care of her before she went back to him? She was his best friend and he felt like he was failing every single time she had a new cut or bruise and everyone knew that if there was one thing he hated, more that corruption and injustice, it was failing.

He was angry at her but that was just because he had no one else to be angry at. He was furious at Montparnasse but he had never approached the older "gentleman". Éponine had made him promise that he would never, _ever_ do that and he had stupidly promised. Unlike others, Enjolras was honorable; the sort who made promises and actually stuck to them. Éponine knew this about him. She knew everything about him and sometimes, he hated how she used that knowledge sometimes to her utmost advantage.

"Thank you for coming to get me," she whispered and his eyes were adjusted to the darkness now.

Her eye was still closed but he could see the moisture on her cheek and the tremble in her voice. Enjolras was never one for affection. His own mother hugged him often but rarely felt his arms reciprocate the gesture around her but, as with most things, Éponine was always the exception.

He inched closer to her across the bed and his hand came to a rest on her arm.

It seemed to be the key to the floodgates because just with one light touch, she started to cry in earnest. Enjolras knew. This was the only time Éponine cried. When it was just the two of them in the darkness. He had never seen her cry around anyone except him. She was the strongest girl he knew, someone who could match his marble intensity, but here, when it was just the two of them, she cracked and crumbled and Enjolras moved closed to her.

"I will always come to get you," he reminded her softly.

"You shouldn't have to get me there," she was trying so hard to get the crying under control, taking deep, gasping breaths and wiping at her cheek, avoiding touching the left.

_No, I shouldn't have to_, Enjolras clenched his teeth together to keep from saying it.

He didn't know what to do. He hated feeling this helpless and lost but he couldn't do anything without her permission and receiving help seemed to be the last thing she wanted. The extent of aid she ever wanted was getting picked up from the ER every time her boyfriend put her in there.

The nurses and the doctors who worked there knew her by now. They also knew the boy with the golden curly hair who always came to collect her.

Their hands were just as tied as Enjolras'.

If Éponine wanted nothing done then they could nothing either. The police weren't able to be contacted until Éponine wanted them to know and wanted Montparnasse punished.

"It won't do anything," Éponine had told him once. "He'll pay his bail and get out and come after me. He'll kill me."

"He'll kill you anyway," Enjolras had retorted but he had said it to her so many times already, he wondered if she cared about her life at all.

She inched closer to him and their knees beneath the sheets touched. His hand slid up and down her arm as if rubbing her for warmth and she bowed her head, sliding it over to join his own on his pillow. Their noses nearly touched and her eyes were closed still, the tears coming to an end, and he stared at her face. The tanned complexion, the lightest sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and the ugly purple of her eye, partially hidden behind her hair.

"You need to get some sleep," she opened her eye to look at him and she tried to smile. "You know you're an asshole if you don't get sleep."

He smirked faintly at that but it didn't stay in place for long and she lifted a hand to his cheek, her thumb tracing one of the frown lines around the corner of his mouth. She stared at him and even with just one good eye, she stared at him with an intensity that he couldn't bring himself to look away from.

He wondered what she was thinking.

He hated how she seemed to know everything about him and yet, after years of knowing her, she still had so many mysteries and secrets. It wasn't fair. They were best friends. He felt that he should know her as she knew him.

"Good night, Enjolras," she then whispered.

"Good night, Éponine," he whispered back.

She gave him a small, almost not completely fake, smile before she pulled her hand away from his cheek and closed her eye again, this time truly trying to go to sleep.

He hated to think how cool his cheek now felt without her hand.

..xx..

His alarm began blaring off at six o'clock on the dot and his arm instantly shot out from the bed to turn it off. He gave himself a moment to allow his groggy brain to wake itself up and he looked at Éponine, still sleeping. She was more than used to sleeping through his alarm.

He rubbed the balls of his hands into his eyes and told himself that he had gotten plenty of sleep. He just needed coffee and he'd be fine. There would plenty of time later in life for sleeping in.

During the night, her head had moved from his pillow back to her own and she was flopped out on her back. His tee-shirt had ridden up as she slept and he had forgotten to close the curtains when they had arrived in his room. Early morning sun filtered through the windows, shining onto her body as if it was being drawn to her and he couldn't help but stare at the flat, smooth expanse of her exposed stomach.

He had always felt she was too skinny and he told her this, which only made her laugh and tell him that he was going to be an amazing boyfriend to a girl someday. He didn't understand what she meant because in his mind, he was only telling her the truth. He wasn't supposed to see such well defined rib cages or hip bones jutting out.

She hadn't had an easy life – with first her parents. Her dad treating her much like Montparnasse does now and there never being enough money and even with aid from the government, neither parent made sure that the money was used in caring for Éponine.

She was often left to fend for herself and even now, with a little bit of her own money from her two jobs and friends who always had well-stocked kitchen cabinets, it was almost as if she ate as little as possible; as if she knew just the right amount that would keep her surviving.

He forced his eyes away and standing up from the bed, he went to the windows, drawing the curtains so the sunlight wouldn't disturb her. He left the bedroom, closing the door behind him, and went to the bathroom to take care of his morning ritual. Showers usually helped, too, when he was trying to wake up after less than five full hours of sleep.

Once he was showered and dressed and ready for another day of lectures and studying, he grabbed his books from the desk and made sure Éponine was still asleep and he left his bedroom yet again, closing the door, not wanting anything to wake her prematurely.

He went down the hallway that spilled into the open living room and kitchen and saw that Combeferre was already awake, eating a piece of dried toast, looking as if he was still sleeping as he leaned against the counter in the kitchen. And on the couch, Grantaire sat with a mug of coffee in his hands and looking as if he had yet to go to bed.

"Good morning!" Grantaire greeted with a grin.

Both Enjolras and Combeferre winced. Neither liked to talk in the mornings.

"Don't you have your own apartment?" Enjolras asked, taking a mug down from the cabinet to pour his own cup of coffee.

"In theory," Grantaire grinned, pulling himself up from the couch and joining them in the kitchen. "But you have the coffee." He then raised his mug as if in a toast. "Do either of you want to get some breakfast? I think I have just enough energy for something greasy before I collapse entirely."

Enjolras shook his head. "I have class."

"At nine," Grantaire rolled his eyes.

"I can go," Combeferre nodded. "It's easier for me to eat before the cadaver dissections."

"I would just like to thank my parents again for holding no grand expectations for me," Grantaire boasted dramatically. "None of this doctor or lawyer business for me."

Combeferre smirked at him. "It's easy to choose a career when daddy owns a bank."

Grantaire merely smiled thoughtfully. "Yes, I am quite good with spending money."

"What about making it?" Enjolras asked.

"It's one or the other, Apollo, and I choose the former," Grantaire gave him a wink.

"Don't call me that," Enjolras told him for the countless time.

"Then tell me your first name," Grantaire grinned, despite Enjolras' slicing glare. He looked to Combeferre. "I'll give you money if you tell me his first name."

"Yeah, right," Combeferre snorted. "I live with him. I tell you his name, he murders me while I'm sleeping."

"Why wait until when you're asleep?" Enjolras asked him without any hint of humor.

Combeferre and Grantaire began laughing nonetheless.

They all silenced when they heard a floorboard creak and three heads turned when Éponine appeared in the doorway. It wasn't that odd for Éponine to come from Enjolras' room in the morning. They were all used to her sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothes. It had taken them nearly two years to convince Grantaire that all they did was sleep and he still had his doubts.

This morning however, they were staring because of the black eye. Enjolras noted that it looked far worse in the natural light than it did in the fluorescent hospital lighting.

"Good morning," Enjolras greeted to her softly and then pulled down another mug.

"Good morning," she returned.

She had moved her hair over her eye again but they could still see most of it and Éponine was never the sort to get nervous or shy but this morning, she stood, quiet and fidgeting with her fingers until Enjolras handed her a cup of coffee.

"Thank you," she told him quietly and he gave her a slight smile and nod of his head.

Grantaire recovered first. "Good morning, beautiful." He leaned over and kissed her cheek and Éponine smiled a bit easier now. "We are going for breakfast. Something greasy and awful for us and you're coming with us."

"I just need to take a quick shower." She looked to Combeferre. "Do you need to take one first?"

He shook his head. "It's all yours. It's pointless for me to today when I just end up smelling like dead bodies."

"I'll be quick," she promised.

"Take your time," Grantaire waved her off. "I'm not nearly done pissing Enjolras off yet."

She laughed at that and turned, leaving the kitchen. Combeferre and Grantaire both looked to Enjolras for him to explain though they all knew what had happened.

Enjolras ignored them and followed Éponine into the hall. "Your stuff is in the cabinet under the sink," he told her.

She smiled. "I know," she nodded. "Thank you," she then said, quieter, and took a sip of coffee.

He shrugged. "Combeferre made it this morning."

She smiled and shook her head at him before slipping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her, sealing it with the turning of the lock.

..xx..


End file.
